Granted Wish
by DCoD
Summary: Oneshot: A dying girl gets her final wish... to meet the Undertaker.


_Disclaimer: I don't own the Undertaker or anything related to the WWE (well, WWF at the time I wrote this) that appears in this fic._

_Author's Note: This was written years ago, in tribute to my grandmother, who had succumb to brain tumors Nov. 3rd, 1999. It was my way of working through her death in the only way I knew how: through my writing. It indeed helped more than I imagined, and turned into something I'd love to share with everyone._

**Granted Wish**

"Someone's here to see you," the middle-aged nurse softly calls out to the balled-up child in the hospital bed, trying to be heard over the music she plays. The nurse, quite scared that this child just would give up, hopes that this visitor would pick the girl's spirits up.

The child, a 16-year-old teenage girl, has her knees up to her chest, her arms hooked around her legs, in a fetal position. Her ice-jade eyes are red and puffy from crying, her bald head covered with a ski-cap. She can't stand herself anymore.

She's not much to look at now, but when she was healthy, she was a beauty. Everyone said so, and she was gracious that she was blessed with such attractiveness. She had long, flowing brown hair, a 5'5" figure with a large bust for her age, and was quite athletic. She had her share of boyfriends, but the one she had truly loved was killed in a drunk driving accident while walking home just two years ago. She never did get over it. Death was something she didn't take lightly. She lost all grandparents on both sides before she was 13, and it didn't help that her boyfriend was taken from her as well.

Then she started feeling sick. Her parents took her to the clinic, where they brought in a specialist to look over her. Many tests were done before it was diagnosed that she had cancerous brain tumors. This news shocked her and her family. When the decision came for surgery and chemotherapy, she jumped for it. She wanted her life back. After the surgery and required rounds of chemo, everything was fine. She even got back into athletics, her favorite being track.

One morning, not 7 months ago, she went to take a shower, but she collapsed in the middle of the bathroom. After the emergency room visit, it was determined that not all the cancer had been removed. She was placed in the hospital near her home, and had remained there for these past 7 long months.

Her hair that had grown back had fallen back out. Her body had deteriorated, her muscles decreasing in their strength. It was awful for her. This teenage girl was being robbed of her youth, no longer able to run with the track team, no longer able to go out on the town, no longer able to do anything.

The nurse is right; she is giving up on life. The doctor just told her a few months before that there was no hope, that she would die.

"DC, c'mon," the nurse says, coming closer to the girl, "someone wants to see you."

DC is short for Diane Claire.

"I don't wanna see anyone," DC replies, her voice rough and raw from sobbing. "Who'd want to see something as ugly as I am? Tell them to go away."

"But DC, he's come from so far away, and managed this in his busy schedule," the nurse tells her, trying to encourage her to uncurl and accept her visitor.

"No!" she says sharply. "Tell them to go away! That I'm dead! I don't care anymore. Just let me die in peace!" With what little strength she has, DC pulls her hospital blankets over her head, ending the discussion.

The nurse walks back out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. "I'm sorry, but she's not in the mood for visitors," she says to the tall man standing just outside the room. "She's basically given up. It's normal for teens with cancer."

"Let me just talk to her, alone," the man says, his deep voice somewhat intrigued with the girl's refusal. No one usually refuses him of anything. "Maybe I can pull her out of her depression."

He wears a black leather jacket, black jeans, a black T-shirt, a blue bandana around his forehead and dark hair, and scuffed boots. The nurse is concerned for the girl, but nods, and leaves the man beside the room. The man remembered the day his company had gotten the call from Make-A-Wish Foundation, about how this cancer patient had been an avid viewer of their shows, and how she had wanted to meet himself especially. He pauses now, listening to the eerie music that sifts through, listening to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack that the girl plays daily. He takes a deep breath, and enters the room, closing the door behind him.

The smells of the room bombard his nostrils, and he swallows hard; he hated hospitals like these, but he couldn't refuse Make-A-Wish, and this dying girl.

"I thought I told you I didn't wanna see anyone!" comes a muffled female voice from under a bunch of blankets. "Doesn't anyone respect a dying girl's wishes anymore?" The girl groans, and squeezes even tighter into a ball.

He takes three paces, and is at her bedside. He carefully takes the tops of the blankets in both his hands, and pulls them down to the girl's waist. "I won't listen to orders today, DC," he tells her softly, his voice soothing.

Her clenched, closed eyes fly open at the sound of his voice. Slowly, she uncurls from the fetal position, and turns over to face him. She remembered when a Make-A-Wish representative came to her not too long ago, and asked what she wished for the most. She told him of wanting to meet a great man she used to always watch on TV. Now, here he is, standing before her. "I don't believe it," she softly says, her voice still strained from those sobs.

"Believe it," he tells her, smiling. His smile makes her relax. He pulls a chair to her bedside. "I hear you were a big fan of mine."

"How could I not?" she says, smiling at the thought that he is here, with her especially. "You're an awesome athlete. I couldn't wait to see you every week."

"I'm glad you like how I work," he replies. "What are you good at?"

"You mean, what _WAS_ I good at," she corrects him, a frown overcoming her happiness. "I used to do almost everything: basketball, volleyball, did football last year, but my best is track." A tear slides down her cheek, but she ignores it. "I miss doing that stuff."

He takes her hand, noticing how cold her skin is. "Don't think about the negative, DC," he tells her, giving her another smile. "Just look at what you've accomplished, what you'll be remembered for. When I went to school, girls were forbidden from playing on the football teams."  
DC smiles. "Thanks, but I'll still never do anything again," she tells him, and looks right into his green eyes. Those pools hold her silent for a few minutes. "At least something good comes out of this. I get to meet you, my hero." He smiles, and clasps her hand in both of his.

She can feel something strange happening. She clasps his hand tightly. "Thank you so much," DC tells him, smiling her biggest smile. "I needed this. I love you…I love you all." She closes her eyes, her heartbeat slows, and she takes her last breath, a smile upon her lips, the music from the Phantom of the Opera still coming through the stereo's speakers.

Tears are falling down his cheeks, but he refuses to wipe them away. She has found her way to a better place, and he believes that these are tears of joy, though the grief he feels from this brief meeting begins to pang his heart.

He gets up, and turns around to see a woman and a man, with two younger children by their sides, standing by the door, tears streaming down their faces. 'Her family,' he thinks to himself. He walks over to them, and holds out his hand to the man. "Hello," he says to him as they shake, and shakes the other three people's hands. "I'm Mark Callaway, better known as the Undertaker of the WWF. Your daughter had requested to meet me."

"Of course," the father says. "DC was always a fan of your's. I'm glad her last moments were spent with you."

Mark gives the mother and the two children comforting hugs before leaving the room. The tears he shed are beginning to stop. He knows he will never forget this night. He'll never forget DC for as long as he lives. 'I'll send them some things to place with her,' he thinks as he heads to the exit. 'I'll call them every now and then as well. Help them through this.' He climbs onto his black Titan motorcycle. This is something he'll never forget for sure. Her ultimate wish was granted. Mark smiles at her surprised look, at her dazzling smile. He starts the bike up, and exits the hospital lot. "She will let her presence be felt everywhere now," he says to himself. He doesn't mind; he can't wait.

As he rides down the highway, trying to be able to make it for the next day's live show, he wishes for her guidance. DC may not have been anyone important, but to him, she was someone special.

The End


End file.
